Your childhood

sidevalve said:
Not far away - Armley in fact. Actually our family name can be traced back [within a fifty mile radius] to before the Norman conquest.
We held lands and properties in the northern shires and [I suppose] used to flog the poor people on a regular basis :whistling:. Sadly all that seems to have vanished by the 19th century :(
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Prison?
 
Not a lot to say really. I was born in what was Essex and is now part of Greater London, about 4 miles away from where I live now. Apart from living in Germany for a while, plus short spells in Greece, Battersea and Brixton, I have always lived in this area, although the rest of my [extended] family seem to live all over the place, now mainly from Minnesota to Greece and all points in between. My parents, my brother, 2 sisters and I lived in an end terrace house with a long garden, and my parents used to grow nearly all their own vegetables and fruit, and we also used to keep chickens and rabbits, so there was always plenty of food on the table.
 
Area I'm in made the international news 10 years ago. Seemed odd seeing it on American TV, at the time though.

Wealth of local history, witchcraft being used to try and find treasure. Yorkshire National Anthem written by a local, after a church outing. One of two possible churches, both about ten minutes away on foot.

Minor problem prevented some things being done. But it soon became a case of "sodom, I'm going to do it". Get rid of the cotton wool.

I got a bit of a reputation at school for fighting the system. Scaring hell out of more than one teacher. I turned up for the first cross country run, at secondary school wearing football boots, having watched others fail at the first incline on a wet week. Same school now on TV, new series.

I've had Christy Moore for a near neighbour. The "buttered in Ireland" part is down to relatives over there. "Wakes Week", actually two weeks used to see the area deserted. Nearly everywhere closing in the first two weeks of July. This was when the trip to Ireland would be made. "Out in the middle of no-where", just in another country. Digging the spuds for the dinner, from the field in front of the house, often to feed over a dozen. Days spent on the bog, gathering up the hay for those who were doing the tramming. Stooking oats, having been showed how to tie them. Up early in the morning, 5 or 6 and out with buckets to carry the mushrooms back in.

I Look at what was once there and wonder where'd it go? There's changes, but for me the best compliment given was being called one of the experts, who knew what he was doing, by a local who we were helping out.

I've done the 179 miles to the ferry this side, crossed and then another 130 miles for the fun of it. In a 24 hour period, more than once by bike.

Added to a local legend, campfire story. That has had one person, who was quite happy talking to me, until I showed up, as she'd been warned(There's just the one to watch out for, easy to spot, pint pot in one hand, axe in the other), give him what he wants and he'll not bother you.

Not too bad I suppose.
 
buckytom said:
especially the ex-pat owner of the site
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Hummm. I'm not actually an ex-pat... we don't have permanent residency. In fact we don't actually have a residency visa but a 457 visa which is a skilled worker visa which entitles us to stay in the country until 2020 currently. So we are sponsored by my husband's company.

Right me, well it's a book in its own right really (as well as @Cinisajoy's) and not a great one either.

Mum married a violent alcoholic who was also a rapist & drug dealer to fund his own habit. Drugs and alcohol featured in his childcare and my health now pays that price tag. She left him after 2nd child was born when he threatened to kill me and took a knife to my throat. Her parents stepped in and I lived with them for a while. My brother was safe, he was the son our father had always wanted. He stalked us for many years, naturally didn't get custody and well, let's just say I know now why we lived in some many different houses over the years in my early days. Eventually he had to leave the country. I guess the police were too close to tracking him down. I have no issues in not knowing him. It is for the best.

Then a period living in a council house, single parent family on poverty line. I realise now that my mother wasn't eating because we simply didn't have the money. Our evening meal was typically 1/3-1/2 a tin of Heinz tomato soup with a little grated cheese in it, a sliced of bread and a glass of milk if there was any. My main meal of the day was a free school lunch. Breakfast was oatmeal/porridge. Mum became one of the founding members of an organisation for battered wives and their children. A picture I drew was for many years their logo.

Mum remarried He was a verbally abusive alcoholic. She became the same with some violence in there as well. Only thing I got out of it was better food, own bedroom, a private education, another 2 siblings: I brought both of them up. I also ran away from home several times during this period, cut my wrists, anorexic, etc, tried to get help no one listened. you know how it goes. Divorce followed.

Husband no 3 is TT and a really nice man (a reformed alcoholic, can't ever drink again, next one will kill him). But he is really nice and they are really happy and they are ideal for each other. Oh and I acquired another sibling... I'm still the eldest but only by a couple of months!

End of my A levels (oh, messed those up after being expelled but that is another story)... go to uni or be thrown out (mum was still married to no 2)... great choices. Uni, 3 years hard work - 1st class honours, got engaged, pregnant, miscarriage (all 2nd yr), & married once we could afford it. Been happily married 20 years now.

Best friend committed suicide whilst we were at uni and I've lost another to suicide in the last 5 years. I'm not sure if that makes me a really bad friend or I just happen to befriend the wrong people. But I don't have many friends and those I do have can be counted on one hand.

There's loads more - won't cover it, its worse, I wouldn't inflict my childhood on my worst enemy... but we deal with what we are given... or try to.

So where did food come into all of it? I had many periods living with my grannie and she taught me how to cook and she always cooked from scratch. She loved cooking and loved cooking for me. She happily cooked vegetarian for me (we stayed with her 1 day a week term time, and I pretty much lived with her every school holiday) etc. I naturally carried on cooking the way I was taught, and always cooked from scratch whilst those around me.... Luckily my hubby came from a stable home, but with all the children his parents had, well they cooked from scratch as well. Ends met for them, but only just with the aid of an allotment & small garden.

Ironically through all of this, I have actually managed to live most of my life in a rural home. Even the council house we lived in was rural - very last house in the village. The only time I lived in a town was at Uni and I hated it. Managed to get on the very edge of town during my 1st & 3rd years which helped. Lived in some of the most remote mainland parts of England and Scotland. Nearly ended up living in Norway, Outer Hebrides and one or two other wonderful places, but have lived in some amazing places as well. All very remote and the sort of place you have to be completely independent and when you only have 1/2 a tank for fuel left in the car, you start to worry and fill up at the very next petrol station - those kind of places (and always have 2 or more Jerry cans of fuel at home!)
 
classic33 said:
London Bridge is in Nevada now!
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But Tower Bridge isn't!

jerry.gif
 
Lynne Guinne said:
Sweets, that is neither your childhood story - nor mine! I think you have things bass ackwards.
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OK, mine is pretty simple. My dad had 3 sons, me being the youngest. Then one day he met this lovely lady with 3 girls of her own, and we new that it was much more than a bunch, so we became a family.

We lived in a modern ranch style house, with a dog and a live in maid that used to date our butcher.

Boy, do I have a lot of stories about those days...
 
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